"Michael Z. Williamson - Freehold 3 - Better to Beg Forgiveness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Michael Z)

Stretching, he took a sip of water. The seat was very comfortable, covered with a finer fabric than most
commercial liners, and powered to support his neck and back automatically, shifting as he did. Military
flights didn't rate such expensive but spine-saving hardware.

Alex wouldn't admit it was his first trip off planet. The star flight had been smooth enough, and there
wasn't much to say, so he ignored it. Both Elke and Jason had been off Earth, and Jason now lived off
Earth, retired to a wealthy colony. He'd retired from the military, not from working in the field.


Anyway, it made sense to soak up the view, get firsthand intel. There was nothing wrong with being a
paid tourist, either.

Salin was just a planet. It had analogs to much of Earth plant life, and a few lower animals. Not much
local was above very simple amphibians, though the seas were fairly active. There were a few reptiles
including some flying types. That meant a lot to the scientists who studied such. To him, it meant few
nonhuman threats, which was fine, as there were enough of those. Salin was smaller than Earth, but had
similar gravity and lots of metals in its core. Bob was a flare star, with periodic outbursts that weren't
dangerous to a human with good UV block or a hat, and barely noticeable for their small violence. As
with everything else around here, it was unspectacular. There was also a certain amount of metal in the
asteroids here. Those were potentially profitable, being easy to transport through jump points, but the
two large and one small nations on Salin had never been able to come to an agreement about them, so
they remained unexploited. Planetary exports tended to be technology, foodstuffs, tourism, or rare
minerals or gems. On the planet itself there were few people with education to create new tech, there
was nothing rare here, barely enough food for subsistence and certainly nothing exotic, and the ongoing
tribal wars and desolate or uninteresting terrain prevented any kind of tourism.

What a hole, he mused.

He tensed slightly as they landed. This mission was still being put together and the Ripple Creek oporder
did not have much information on infrastructure. It lacked details such as whether the port was
automated, or if pilots had to manually land and if there were even navaids. All these intelligence holes
were information he needed to get the job done, but he'd have to make do. The landing was uneventful
as it turned out, and they taxied up to a very basic, sheet-roofed building that served as the terminal. That
summed up what this place was like.

As soon as they rolled to a stop, he said, "Okay, debark, Elke and Bart, grab our weapons, and let's
meet our principal at his new home."
* * *

Their craft was a civilian Skylifter, but was on contract to the military. Again and again that was
happening, and Bart Weil didn't like it. He remembered when everything had been done at great expense
with armor and combat craft. This was allegedly cheaper, but it was not safer and contractors weren't
always reliable. He hated using them. Then he caught himself and laughed inside. He was a contractor
and wouldn't be here otherwise. He'd done executive protection for years, but only been on military-type
contracts a few months, like most of the team, and was still adapting to the mind-set.

He walked aft, out through a wave of heat and down the ladder rolled against the fuselage. They were
debarking on the apron, which said what was needed about this backwater. He started sweating, but it
was only from the weather, not from any threat. Yet.